This is one of those poems that if you asked me to tell you what it means, I would cock my head to the side and slit my eyes. It means what it says, right?

It arose from a pretty crabby place, but if you wish, you can picture me writing it dressed like Frank-n-Furter at the end of Rocky Horror, in torn fishnets and a glitter corset with eyeliner running down my face, singing “don’t dream it – be it.”